


Here's to a Familiar Face

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Comatose and trapped in a world built entirely in his mind, things have been better for Dean Winchester. Luckily, he's got a reaper to keep him company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's to a Familiar Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acquiredsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acquiredsight/gifts).



“Dean.”

He’d been waiting for her.

Seated in a quaint living area, he patted the empty spot beside him on the sofa. The floorboards shifted and then she walked around to face him.

“Tessa,” he greeted.

She took a seat and silently assessed the room. It was simple: cream-colored walls and minimal furniture. Curtains covered the window and a rounded archway led to a kitchen, which housed several appliances and a table. Down that hall there was a bedroom, a bathroom, and two additional doors that led nowhere.

“Nice place,” she commented.

“Thanks.”

“A little empty, though. Maybe you could decorate.”

He snorted and said, “Right. Because I’ve got the time.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I’m not here to reap you, if that’s what you think.”

“Really.”

“Really,” she confirmed.

Though he didn’t believe her, he wasn’t sure why she’d mislead him. He knew who she was and what her presence meant. She didn’t need to lull him into a false sense of security and then give him the _you’re going to a better place_ chat. They’d been there, done that, and at this point he just wanted to get it over with.

“What’s this, then?” He asked as he threw a hand towards the room around them.

“A creation of your mind. Somewhere for you to reside while you…” she trailed off and caught his eye. “Do you remember?” She asked. “What happened?”

He considered the questions and tried to remember the last thing before he’d found himself here. A cloudy memory formed. “I was hunting… something,” he said slowly. “And it threw me. I hit a wall and then I was—I remember falling. I went down a flight of stairs, maybe two. And then…” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

She nodded, as if to say he was correct.

He’d assumed that was his end. That he’d died. It was a rather anticlimactic way to go out—a tumble down the stairs? Seriously?—but what else was he to make of his current situation. This had to be a holding cell of some kind. A place for him to wait until Tessa was able to transition him to… wherever he was headed.

Only the look she was giving him told him it was something else.

“You’re in a coma,” she said softly.

It was a hell of a lot better than dead, he supposed.

She extended a hand. Placed it on his thigh and squeezed lightly. He closed his eyes. A sense of clam seeped through his veins, and he figured she was doing something to him. Relaxing him. He didn’t object, and after a minute he asked, “What are you doing here, then?”

“We’re connected,” she replied. “You should know that by now. Whenever you come within a close proximity to death, that connection becomes stronger. Today it formed a thread—something I was able to follow, and at the end I found you. Here.”

“Awesome,” he mumbled, eyes snapping open. “You can waltz in and out of my mind, meanwhile I’m trapped here for who knows how long.”

She didn’t reply.

“How long _am_ I going to be here?”

“I can’t say.”

He wondered if she didn’t know, or if she just wouldn’t tell him.

“Awesome,” he murmured one more time.

She squeezed his thigh again, and he averted his gaze. After several long seconds, the weight of her hand lifted. He looked to his right and she was gone. Vanished from the room and any sense of tranquility he’d experienced evaporated along with here.

Alone, with not even the escape of death on the horizon, he could only sigh.

 

* * *

 

She visited again.

While he didn’t let on, he appreciated the company.

What felt like weeks had passed, and when he told her this her response was, “Time moves differently here.”

“How long’s it been in the real world?”

“Two days.”

“Two days,” he whispered to himself. Then, not certain he wanted to know the answer, he asked, “Sam?” Because his brother had been with him on that hunt and any number of things could have happened to him, especially after Dean was incapacitated.

“Is fine,” she replied.

A heavy weight lifted from his chest.

As he let the information soak in, she walked a slow circle around the room.

“See you took my advice,” she said, shifting the subject to something lighter. “Added some décor.”

“Yeah. I’ve learned a few tricks.”

“Tricks?” She lifted her brow, part curious and part amused.

“I can build shit with my mind. Make practically anything I want appear.”

On the walls and around the room were weapons. Things he could bide his time with, either sharpening or cleaning or using to spar against benign monsters he’d muster out of thin air. Down the hall he’d transformed one of the doors to nowhere into a library, and his bedroom had become a near replica of the one he had in the bunker. It wasn’t the same, of course—and he’d yet to experience the need to sleep—but the familiarity was nice.

“It’s like Inception in here,” he concluded. “Minus the hot French chick.”

“No hot chicks, huh?”

“Well—“ he paused. “You aren’t French.”

She smiled and balanced herself on the arm of the sofa. “I could be,” she said. “Have been, actually, a few times.”

“That so?”

She nodded and said, “Of course.” He tried to imagine her with the voice of Marion Cotillard. Though, he supposed a different face and body accompanied the accent as well.

“Sometimes I forget,” he said. “That this isn’t you. That underneath you’re that… gnarly lookin’ spirit.”

Her smile vanished and the look she shot him held mild offense.

“Thanks,” she said, her tone on the side of biting.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve just—I’ve gotten used to seeing you like this. I like this form and your true form—well, you gotta admit it’s a little _different_.”

“Of course you like this form. I designed it for you after you didn’t appreciate my true form the _first_ time.”

He knew he’d messed up. It hadn’t sounded like an insult in his mind, but now he could see how she’d take it as one.

“I’m being nice, you know. I don’t have to come here. I don’t have to do this, but I have been because—because—“ She paused and drew a short breath in. “I thought you could use a friend, and I didn’t mind the company either.”

Both were silent for a moment, and then she crossed her arms over her chest and stood up from the sofa.

“Make it up to me,” she said. “Next time I stop by— _if_ I stop by, that is.”

And before he could reply, she disappeared.

 

* * *

 

He did make it up to her.

The next time she appeared, he made dinner.

“What’s this?” She asked as he set the burger in front of her.

“Your boss appreciates a good meal, so I figured…” he trailed off, uncertain if she’d like it or if reapers even ate. A few seconds of silence passed, then she smiled.

“This looks a hell of a lot better than those fast food places he takes me to,” she said.

He relaxed.

Seated at the table, they ate.

It was all for naught, he understood. Neither was getting anything out of it as they currently existed nowhere but in the space of his mind.

But still, it was nice.

Afterward, they moved into the living area and took a seat on the sofa.

“You going to keep visiting me?” He asked, hopeful the meal was enough to convince her he wasn’t a complete ass.

“I suppose,” she replied.

He smiled a little and said, “Good, ‘cause maybe you were right—maybe I don’t mind having somebody around.”

“I _know_ I was right.”

“Hey, I heard what you said,” he teased. “I heard you say that you appreciate the company too, so I’m not the only one getting something out of this.”

She looked away for a moment, and then nodded her head vaguely.

“It gets a little lonely,” she admitted. “My existence doesn’t have many reoccurring characters. Everyone I meet is passed onto another life. Other than my boss and a few other reapers, you’re one of the few familiar faces I’ve got.”

Hearing this made something ache inside of him. Maybe because he understood what she meant. How you could spend every day of your life serving humanity and still feel alone.

“I guess it’s nice,” she said. “To see you every once in a while.”

“No, I get it,” he said quietly. “What it’s like to want something familiar.”

He reached out and laid a hand over hers.

He squeezed lightly, and she squeezed back.

 

* * *

 

“How long’s it been?”

“Five days.”

“I’m not coming out of this thing anytime soon, am I?”

“I can’t say.”

“Of course not.”

 

* * *

 

She helped him sharpen knives.

He showed her how to clean a gun.

"Is this what you do for fun?" She asked, clearly not impressed with how he passed the time.

"Well." He paused, uncertain he wanted to share the television he'd constructed where he could watch trashy soap operas or the occasional porno. Anything that his mind was able to construct. He also didn't know if he wanted to show her his ability to relive memories. To tell her how he'd gone back to some of his favorite times with Sam, or how he'd revisited his first meeting with her once or twice.

Instead, he showed her something else.

Down the hall was the library. It housed shelves of his favorite authors and various supernatural texts.

"You've read all of these," she commented quietly. And he nodded, because while he wouldn't be able to recall the text from heart in the real world, he'd still read it and the memory remained stored somewhere deep inside his mind.

"M'brighter than you think," he mumbled, and she shot him a look that said she'd never questioned his intelligence. He supposed she hadn't.

She walked across the room and pulled a book from the shelf and turned it over in her hands.

 _Slaughterhouse-Five_.

"Read it to me," she said, and while he protested briefly he quickly gave in.

They seated themselves in the corner and he began, "The cattle are lowering, the baby awakes..."

 

* * *

 

His world flickered.

The house vanished from around him, and then reappeared. Everything had shifted. Certain things he’d built were moved to different spaces in the room or missing entirely. The walls were a shade of blue now and the rug beneath his feet had vanished.

“What the hell,” he mumbled.

This was different.

Then, the rumbling began. It started as a slight tremor beneath his feet and built until the walls were vibrating. The sound it emitted rose from a low buzz to what he recognized as a voice. Sam’s voice. He was speaking to him.

_”How’re you doing, man? Nurses say you’re doing good and responding real well to their tests. I’m glad to hear that—I’ve been telling ‘em what a trooper you are—but uh, I need you to get better. Okay? Soon.”_

His brother’s voice sounded wrecked, and a little desperate. He wished he could reply. Tell him he was fine.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” he said. “I’ll be out soon.”

He didn’t hear Sam’s voice again, but the event had stirred something in him.

There was finally an end in sight, and for the first time he felt something other than the dread of being trapped inside his mind.

He felt… hopeful.

 

* * *

 

He made dinner for her.

Again.

He continued to understand how silly it really was, but he enjoyed cooking. And she seemed to enjoy being cooked for. He talked to her while he made dinner. Relayed anecdotes from his life and she shared bits and pieces from hers. For a moment he’d been struck by how odd it was, that her daily life consisted of leading people from death and into the afterlife. Only then he remembered that he was one to talk. His consisted of hunting monsters and dealing with demons and angels; neither of them were the picture of normalcy.

Dinner that evening consisted of pasta and wine and when he told her about the turn of events—about hearing Sam’s voice—the atmosphere became decidedly different.

“Do you think I’m waking up?” He asked.

“Maybe,” she replied.

He realized how content he felt, seated across from her with a homemade meal between them. When he met her eye, he saw the shift in her expression. There was sadness in her gaze, and he remembered how she’d told him about how lonely she felt at times.

Suddenly, he felt a little sad as well. Regret pooled in his stomach, and while he didn’t by any means want to stay here, he did want to stay with _her_.

Her thoughts must have lain in the vicinity of his, because just as he was about to lean across the table she beat him to the punch and kissed him. It was tentative, almost curious. Like she was testing the waters. After a moment she deepened it, and lifted a hand to trace his jaw.

They moved from the kitchen and to his bedroom. They lay down and as they found themselves lost in each other, the mattress traced and remembered their combined forms.

 

* * *

 

“Will I remember this? Any of this?” He asked later, as they lay together.

She shifted against his side and replied, “I don’t know.”

He was leaning towards probably not.

From experience, he knew that the only times he remembered a foray into the metaphysical realm was when somebody went out of their way to make him remember. This time there was no lesson to be learned. It was simply an accident that got him here, and having fallen for a reaper during his stay was a _happy_ accident.

“You can make me remember,” he said. “I know you can. Like how you reminded me of the first time we’d met.”

“I can,” she said quietly, though he wondered if she planned to.

He drew a breath in, and decided to with the future uncertain, he could do nothing savor every moment they had left.

“You know what I want?” He asked.

“What?”

“To see you. To really see you, I mean.”

“See me as in true form see me?” She asked, and he nodded. She shook her head. “No.”

“Please?”

“I’m having a nice evening, Dean. I don’t need it ruined by your getting all creeped out. Again.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

She didn’t look convinced, but after a minute she closed her eyes.

Slowly, her features began to transform. Her black hair grew longer and turned to a misty white. It tucked and crossed itself into a long braid while her body became light as air. She hovered over him, her facial features shifting around a little like bits of cloud, and he could feel himself smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She lowered a translucent hand and cupped his cheek. Her palm was cool to the touch and shot tiny pricks of electricity across his skin. Then, within seconds, she was back to the form she’d designed for him.

As she tucked herself against his side, she pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He pulled her close and closed his eyes.

And for the first time since he’d entered this dream world, he felt himself drift to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When he opened his eyes, he was in a hospital.

The room was bathed in soft light from the window, and the sky outside was blue.

When he turned his gaze to the left, he saw Sam.

“You back?” Sam asked.

He managed a nod.

 

* * *

 

In the weeks that followed, he recovered.

Once, Sam asked him what it was like. If there was anything he remembered.

He gave the question fair consideration. Something nagged at the back of his mind—something he wished he could remember, but was just out of reach.

So he shook his head and said, “No, I don’t.”

Only then, for whatever reason, he felt the need to add, “But I get the feeling it wasn’t that bad.”


End file.
